


Stir Crazy

by justlikeyouimagined



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Accidental Sex, AccidentalSex2, Cabin Fic, M/M, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Pranks and Practical Jokes, Wet Clothing, cabin fever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 05:46:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17016876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeyouimagined/pseuds/justlikeyouimagined
Summary: That was it: he’d finally broke Will. He had considered how Will might respond to being sequestered in a remote cabin for an extended period of time, but somehow, he had clearly miscalculated. Even together, there was only so much relative isolation that a person could handle. Their seclusion was unavoidable, but he knew that even grumpy, introverted, forest-dwelling Will would go stir crazy, eventually.Fill for:"You played a prank on me and now I’m going to play one on you except oops this accidentally got hot”(Accidental Sex #2) forFhimeChanandCinnamaldeide'sAccidental Sexcollection. Thanks for letting me join in the fun!





	Stir Crazy

**Author's Note:**

> Now with a fantastically smutty chapter 2 by an anon for the April Fool's Fic Swap. It's great, go read it after!  
> [Stir Crazy Chapter 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18309131)

That was it: he’d finally broke Will. He had considered how Will might respond to being sequestered in a remote cabin for an extended period of time, but somehow, he had clearly miscalculated. Even together, there was only so much relative isolation that a person could handle. Their seclusion was unavoidable, but he knew that even grumpy, introverted, forest-dwelling Will would go stir crazy, eventually.

He had simply thought he would have lasted longer.

In the beginning, their escape and convalescence had allowed them no extra energy for boredom. It was all they could do to keep themselves alert, fed, alive. It had been tense, some moments more than others, but they had both passed through the painful haze relatively intact.

Hannibal had taken the brunt of the water’s pounding, and as such, Will had mended (more or less) long before him. By the time he had been well enough to be of any great entertainment to his house guest, Will had already gone several weeks with virtually no stimulation. A man can stay locked in for only so long before his mind creates its own games, he knew. Three years in his cell; he’d gone well past that point.

It was just the _way_ he had begun to play that had taken Hannibal somewhat by surprise. 

But he needed to do _something_ , he knew. And so, it was for this reason that he allowed Will’s outbursts, at least at first. It was harmless, really, only a means for Will to temporarily relieve the never-ending boredom that weighed heavy on the two of them. 

First, it was his socks. 

They didn’t have an expansive wardrobe here, certainly nothing that measured up to Hannibal’s usual standards. At the very least though, he’d had a good array of warm, matching socks. A critical staple when they now spent virtually every moment inside, padding and pacing about the small cabin with no particular purpose. If he couldn’t be stylish, he could at least be comfortable. 

Apparently, Will had thought otherwise. One morning, after he’d returned from his shower, Hannibal had opened his drawer to find half of everything was gone. Try as he might - and he'd spent nearly twenty minutes sorting and resorting potential pairs - he could barely manage two or three new sets that didn’t drive him absolutely mad. Different colors, different textures, different thicknesses. Nothing managed to go together. 

He was gracious enough to Will’s face, though. He thought he’d cut him some slack, let him make his own amusement for a time. Lord knew that Hannibal craved something new to do besides reading and re-reading the same five novels that had come stocked in the home. He figured that if he let Will have his fun, he’d get his socks back soon enough, and they’d be back to the same tedium as before. 

That had been eight days and fourteen pranks earlier. 

They were always little things. The type of jokes small children play on their friends. The next morning, it had been when he’d been brushing his teeth. He’d been taken aback for a moment after he’d spat into the sink; the violent green shade of the foamy toothpaste had been entirely unexpected. He’d looked up in the mirror then to take in the deep green stain of his teeth, the ombre fade of his lip from green to pink. He’d scrubbed away the food coloring from his mouth ruthlessly, but still the green tinge that had bled onto his lips had made him look entirely unwell. 

Will had managed a straight face when he’d greeted him in the kitchen, but only just. Hannibal, for his part, had been decidedly less reserved. He’d arched his brows in accusation and asked,  “Finding ways to keep yourself entertained?” 

Will had smirked at that, he remembered, before replying, “Green’s definitely your color.” 

The following day, it’d been his deodorant. He should have noticed the change in smell - that was his own fault, he’d admit - but his mind had been somewhere else as he’d rotely readied himself before breakfast. 

The creamy soft butter had slid at first, and then had clumped into his underarm hair. His shirt already had a thick, greasy stain all about the armpit before he had sorted out what had happened. Will must have been in the bedroom still; he could have sworn he’d heard a bemused chuckle when he’d let out a long sigh before stripping down to have yet another shower. 

The day after that, it had been a double whammy. He’d nearly jumped when the bedroom door swung open and the doorknob had pressed onto the head of the air horn that Will had strategically taped up onto the wall behind. The noise had been brutally piercing, and however brief the moment lasted, Hannibal had thought that it had been a siren. He had forced himself to laugh at that one; otherwise, he’d have hurt Will for it. 

Later that same day, he’d been decidedly less amused when the salt mill fell to pieces in his hand, ruining the salmon he’d been cooking up for dinner. 

And so it had gone. Day after day after day. 

Will had cracked. Clearly.

They never spoke of it; to do so would be akin to admitting it was getting to him, and that itself was near enough to defeat. No, he would just let Will tire himself out. 

Except, he never did. It was around the seventh day that Hannibal realized he couldn’t wait it out. 

In their lazy cabin lives, Will had taken to sleeping late; Hannibal decided to use it to his advantage. He crept past Will’s bedroom, careful to avoid the now well-mapped boards that groaned and creaked under their weight. Within five minutes, he was back with the bucket and the ice water - snow water, really, as the weather allowed him - and focused on carefully balancing the base of the bucket on the door’s top edge. 

There. 

It wouldn’t be his most inspired work, certainly. But it’d be cold. And that would be a pleasure in itself. 

Hannibal carefully let go of the bucket, testing its balance before he craned his neck over his shoulder to check on Will in his bed. 

Only, Will wasn’t here. 

He registered Will’s missing body a fraction of a second before he felt the the firm shove from behind, right between his shoulder blades. 

His instincts took over; before he knew enough to stop himself, his hands were reaching out against the door, protecting his face from impact. The door slammed forward. 

The positioning of the bucket was perfect. Of course it was. Hannibal had done it. 

The cold of the snow-water mix was truly fantastic, he felt at once as though he’d gone crashing back into the Atlantic. His gasp was everything he had hoped he would wrench out of Will. 

Where before Will had been reserved in his outward appreciation for his pranks, this time he did not hold back: his laughter was barking loud, and it bent him nearly in half. Not only had he managed to drag Hannibal down to play on his level, he’d been privileged enough to see him fail spectacularly at it. This was, apparently, a rarest of delights. 

Hannibal stood there, frozen and boiling mad. Will didn't let up.

“ _Enough._ ” Hannibal let out through gritted teeth.  

The low rumble of Hannibal’s voice shocked Will to silence. He straightened up to look more carefully over Hannibal’s wet frame, judging the extent of his anger. There was a moment where Will looked thoughtful, and Hannibal felt a small pang in his chest that he’d been learning to accustom himself with now that their lives overlapped. The tips of his eyebrows furrowed and lifted; Hannibal was transported back to Will’s home, where he’d first seen that look - dismissively directed towards Mason as he had gleefully ate himself raw. The swell of pride and obsessive desire that he had felt gazing at Will giving _that look_ paled in comparison to the aching need it erupted in him now. 

With some difficulty, he pulled his mind away from the unsolicited, inappropriate thoughts about the devilish boy before him, and instead tried to regain some composure, as much as it was possible in his current state. But Hannibal’s own facial expression must have shifted as he had reminisced because Will was looking at him now, not dismissively or even in bemusement, but with some degree of curiosity. Suddenly, a moment that had felt entirely foolish had become charged. Explosive. 

Will took a cautious step towards Hannibal, then stopped. Curious. Unsure. Hannibal stood still and pin straight, as though a forceful exhale might make him topple. He was no longer angry, only completely and entirely unmoored. 

Will’s tongue peeked out to wet a swipe along his top lip’s inner edge. It was captivating in exactly the way Hannibal needed to avoid. Will stepped closer again, his eyes uncharacteristically focused on Hannibal’s own. Hannibal’s exhale was unsteady; he could not will himself to look away. 

Suddenly, on his next step, Will slipped in the spreading ice water pool and lost his balance, lunging forward with his arms reaching at anything to catch him. Hannibal grabbed at Will’s falling frame. His arms wrapped about Will’s bare torso, pulling him up and in to press against his sopping chest. 

Will let out a small huff, then a distinctly audible sigh. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. His eyes bounced between Hannibal’s features, probing. 

It was the first time they’d been this close since the Dragon. Hannibal could no longer feel the wet or the cold or the heavy weight of his drenched clothes: pressed against him, there was only Will. When Will loosened his grip on Hannibal’s shirt and smoothed his hand across his side, Hannibal's eyelids fluttered, overwhelmed. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, Will’s hand moved up, over the perk of his nipple to rub against Hannibal’s wet chest. When his hand moved up further still to touch lightly at his neck, Hannibal didn’t quiet his sharp inhale. The ferocity of it shocked Will, and pulled a reciprocal reaction from him. 

In all their time together, there had never been a moment that had felt like this. It wasn’t the majestic sensation on the cliff, this was something at once new and endlessly familiar. Wanted. Hannibal had killed dozens without his heart rate rising more than a few beats more per minute. Now, as Will’s finger moved to trace the outline of his carotid and the blood that rushed through it, it felt as though his heart might seize from its erratic tempo. 

“Will,” he started, his voice quiet. But he couldn’t continue. He stood there, soaking wet, and drowning in the sight of him. 

Will’s fingers moved up further still. At the notice of Will’s gaze on his mouth, Hannibal parted it in invitation. When the calloused pad of Will’s finger brushed against his lower lip, Hannibal let go. His moan was brazen. Needy. 

Hannibal leaned forward and slipped Will’s fingers deep into his mouth. His tongue lapped hungrily against the salty rough skin. A bone-deep satisfaction bloomed within him when he heard Will’s own groan rumble low and loud in his throat. 

His eyes flicked up to meet Will’s and he took in the thin rim of tempestuous blue just visible around his dilated pupils. The look - of awe, of hunger - was simply too much. He let Will’s fingers loose and before Will could protest, Hannibal surged forward to press their mouths together. Will embraced him, fully, greedily, and they stumbled as one towards the bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr](https://trikemily.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/trikemily) or [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/trikemily) \- i'm trikemily on all.  
> If you liked this... you might not like my other stuff hah. But please, go ahead and check it out anyway!
> 
> Now with a fantastically smutty chapter 2 by an anon for the April Fool's Fic Swap. It's great, go read it after!  
> [Stir Crazy Chapter 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18309131)


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